Banged Up
by frombluetored
Summary: There were many things Clara Oswald expected when she entered prison. Catching the eye of the prison's most notorious inmate was not one of them. [AU. Rating will change to M later on.]
1. Detached

**A/n: **Cover art for this fic is by the lovely Annie (link to her blog is on my profile :)! This AU includes Danny Pink (a character announced to join DW in the coming series), but it's just an AU version seeing as though we don't know much about him yet! Hope you enjoy!

* * *

There was a type of white noise that emitted from an in-flight combat aircraft that could be found in the emptiness of a holding cell.

But the similarities stopped there.

* * *

Clara Oswald was exhausted and shaking with hunger when she was finally placed in her cell. She'd spent a week on the induction wing, or so they said, but she didn't remember much of it. There were films, and forms, and searches. She remembered all her belongings being stripped away and then replaced with strange items that must have passed through thousands of other hands. She remembered her barrister's face what felt like months ago as he peered through the bars of her cell in reception and informed her that there would be no appeal (there was no point). She remembered her dad making the frantic trip down from Blackpool with the few belongings she was allowed to take with her—underwear, books, pencils, paper, toiletries—but he hadn't even had time to kiss her goodbye.

She remembered all of that, but what she didn't remember was why she was here.

But then again: maybe she was lying. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

* * *

Her cell mate spared her the briefest of glances when she returned later that night. Clara was in the process of putting her sheets on her bed, acting so much on autopilot that she hardly felt anything at all, but when she saw the woman she was to live with, she stopped mid-action. For a terrible moment, she was caught staring at her. She looked entirely green thanks to the interweaving tattoos that littered every inch of visible skin. And she didn't seem amused by Clara's lingering stare.

"I-I'm sorry," Clara said quickly, averting her eyes apologetically. She cleared her throat and tugged her sheet straight, bracing herself for some sort of threat or insult. But what came was much different than that.

"I'm Vastra. Everything you hear about me is true. If you're clever and kind, we'll get along just fine."

Clara held her breath as Vastra walked up behind her, thinking that that couldn't possibly be it. She couldn't get off that easily. But when Vastra sat atop her bed and opened one of her books, Clara decided she might've lucked out with her cell mate.

It was the first time she'd been lucky in a while.

* * *

That first night, she saw wreckage behind her eyes.

She dreamt of explosions that shook the earth, of jets bursting into hot, licking flames, of the shouted commands of a man long gone. She saw her own hand—her fingers long and reaching—stretched out in front of her eyes, reaching down towards what looked like the mouth of hell itself. And then she watched those same flames surge towards her. They burnt through her ribs and filled her until she was the mouth of hell, too. But no matter how much she burned, he never came back.

She woke up to a sharp stinging pain. It bloomed over her cheekbone and settled into the bones of her face. She realized after a moment of staring up at her new cell mate that she'd slapped her, though she didn't look particularly angry.

"I'm sorry," Clara gasped. Her shirt was soaked through with sweat and she could feel every muscle in her body quivering. She was certain she'd vomit up the little food she had if she didn't get it under control. "I'm sorry."

Vastra stared at her almost curiously. She didn't seem drowsy at all, even though Clara was certain it was the middle of the night.

"Who's John?" She wondered. She cocked her head to the side. "Who's Danny?"

The nausea peaked. Clara sat up, quivering all the while, and then shoved her blankets off her legs. She ran her fingers through her hair and bowed her head, her breathing labored. Just the sound of John's name brought back the sound of explosions. And just the sound of Danny's brought back an overwhelming feeling of homesickness.

Vastra sighed heavily in annoyance when Clara failed to answer, but she didn't rise from the bed.

"It'll get better. What's your name?"

"Clara." She answered automatically. Her breath stuttered in her chest before she got it back under control. "Clara Oswald." She sniffed.

"All right, Oz. Take a deep breath. Whatever you were dreaming of, it's not inside this prison. It can't hurt you."

If she wasn't so frightened of Vastra, she would've told her just how wrong she really was. It could hurt her, and it was inside this prison. It was inside _herself_.

* * *

Clara had arrived after dinner the day prior, so she wasn't given a breakfast pack like most everyone else. She woke with a growling stomach and tried not to watch Vastra prepare her tea and porridge, but the smell of it—especially the tea—affected her more than she'd expected. She sat in her bed with her knees to her chest and her forehead pressed into her kneecaps, teary over the thought of her favorite mug back home. She was feeling teary over everything, and she had to piss so badly that it was staring to become an ache in her abdomen. But the toilet and sink were situated almost in direct view; the small wooden divider didn't do much to separate the room from the lavatory.

Vastra must have seen the way she was squirming uncomfortably.

"You've got to use the toilet at some point, you know," Vastra spoke up. Clara listened as she took a long sip of her tea. She pressed her forehead harder into her knees. "How old are you, Oz?"

Clara's voice was muffled.

"Twenty-seven."

"Two years younger than me and two years older than I was when I entered. You'll do just fine." Vastra reassured her. Clara heard her set her mug down. "Look. I'll put my earphones in just this once, all right? Go and have your wee."

Clara shot off the bed quicker than she'd thought possible. In the face of her near-exploding bladder, her hunger couldn't hold her back much at all. She fought with the regulation trousers and closed her eyes tightly, still partially in disbelief that this was happening to her. But it was her life now.

She perched on the edge of her bed and waited until Vastra pulled her earphones out.

"Thank you," she told her softly. She hoped she could read the genuine feeling of gratitude surging through her.

"Yes, well, I won't do it again," Vastra reminded her firmly. "You'll have to get used to it."

Clara rubbed her thighs nervously.

"I know." She assured her.

Vastra lifted her mug to her lips and took a sip, her eyes locked on Clara. She examined her for a few moments and then seemed to make up her mind about something. She turned and set her mug on the cheap chest-of-drawers beside her bed and then opened the top drawer. Clara watched her rifle around for a few moments before retrieving two things.

She held them out. Clara stared.

"Go on, take them." Vastra urged. "I ordered too many from canteen last week."

Clara's eyes burned as she leaned forward and took the throwaway coffee cup and tea bag. Her fingers shook.

"You can use my kettle. I'll start it up for you." Vastra continued. She rose from the bed and walked over to the chest-of-drawers. She picked up the electric kettle and carried it over to the sink to fill it. Clara was stuck in place, watching her, the tea bag sticking to her damp palm.

She couldn't help it.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" She asked. "I don't…I don't have anything to repay you with."

Vastra didn't even look up. She placed the kettle back on the electric ring and then turned the lever down, her back to Clara.

"Because I think you're clever. And I'm always looking for clever friends." She responded shortly.

Clara rose up on shaky legs when Vastra motioned her over. She carried her cup and tea bag over and handed them to Vastra. She watched as she dropped the tea bag in and poured the steaming water on top, her heart swelling with relief at just the sight of the steam. She took the hot paper cup and bounced the tea bag up and down impatiently, eager for it to seep.

"I'm in here. I can't be _too _clever." Clara said, without really thinking it through. She realized too late what Vastra could take that to mean. She looked up, stricken. "Not that I think _you're _not clever—I just mean…this wasn't exactly…"

She stopped, the words dissolving on her tongue. Vastra was looking coldly at her.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, horrified.

Vastra crossed her arms.

"I think you'll find out very quickly that we're the only clever ones in this country, Oz. I hope you find that out on the right side of things."

It sounded like a threat, and even though Clara knew making alliances she didn't quite understand was a mistake…the woman had given her _tea_. She owed her something.

"Right," she agreed quickly. She licked her lips. "I'm…whatever you need me to do. I'll do it. "

Vastra stared at her for a moment longer. And then she burst into laughter. Clara was left even more confused than before.

"I'm not bullying you into a prison gang!" She reassured her. "I'm just offering you my friendship for as long as I decide you're worthy of it."

It still sounded like a threat to Clara, but she supposed most everything would now.

* * *

She felt better after the tea, but when they were ushered out for lunch, she was lightheaded with hunger again. She seemed to glide over the concrete floors, like she was floating above them. Vastra stayed by her side long enough to explain how the next few hours would play out—lunch, an hour and thirty minutes of outdoors time, then back to the cell—but then she'd disappeared. Clara shuffled along with what felt like hundreds of faceless inmates, certain this would be the way her entire sentence would go. And then she had the shock of her life. It came to her in the form of _men_.

She didn't mean to stop in place, but the sight threw her enough to cause it. Another inmate crashed hard into her back, sending her falling forward into another inmate, and then she found herself on the dirty servery floor, tangled up with another woman. She groaned as the woman's hand pressed hard over her stomach so she could heave herself up. She found herself lying on her back, breathless, staring up into the face of a cross middle-aged woman.

"Watch where you're fuckin' going, you slag." She bit out.

Clara propped herself up on her elbows with a grimace. The inmate had already stormed off with her friends by the time Clara had worked her way back to her feet.

All in all, it was a great start.

She received her lunch—some mess that was supposed to be vegetable pasty—and then looked for the emptiest table she could find. But by some luck, she saw Vastra's green arm waving at her from across the room. Clara limped over, her stomach still sore from the pressure of the woman's body weight. She was sure she'd have a bruise.

Vastra was sitting with a pretty young woman probably around Clara's age, with light brown hair and a charming freckle above her lip. She smiled at Clara as she sat down.

"Hi," Clara greeted.

"Hello!" The woman echoed.

"Oz, this is Jenny, my wife." Vastra introduced her. Jenny waved cheerfully, like there was no place on earth she'd rather be than where she was. Clara smiled back politely.

They didn't ask much of her conversation-wise, something Clara was relieved for. She was sure she still wasn't fully present. She wasn't sure when she'd ever be. Everything felt strangely unreal—unreal enough that there was panic beginning to gnaw incessantly at Clara's heart. She had the urge to smack her head into the wall, just to see if she was really there. Perhaps it was all a terrible dream.

She realized Jenny and Vastra were asking her something after their third attempt. She looked up from her untouched tray.

"Sorry," she said tiredly. "What was that?"

Jenny looked almost concerned.

"I was asking what you're here for." Jenny repeated.

Clara licked her lips and looked down at her tray. Her spoon shook between her quivering fingers.

"Um…" she trailed off as she heard the sound of deep laughter. She looked behind her, distracted. "Why are there men here?"

When she glanced back at Jenny and Vastra, she saw the tail-end of an amused look passing between them.

"This is the premiere budget prison. Men and women, together. Saves space and funds, or so they say." Vastra shared. "You're lucky to be here when you are, actually. We used to have every meal in our cells. They only just started doing lunches here because it meant less kitchen serving staff."

If anyone had bothered telling her any information after her conviction, perhaps she would've known that. But everyone had treated her like cattle.

"Is that…safe?" She asked hesitantly.

She watched Vastra's lips curl up into a smirk.

"Oz, you're sleeping beside a woman who ate the face off a child murderer." She said. She paused just long enough for Clara's blood to run cold. "Nothing here is safe."

Clara had to force herself not to lean back from her. She stuck her spoon into the pudding-like substance on her tray just for something to do. Anything but jumping up and running away. She'd spent six years in the RAF. She'd worked in reconnaissance and she'd seen some terrible, terrible things—some of which she'd made worse. But she hadn't been herself since the fire and the loss. She hadn't been herself since she'd snapped and snatched for control that wasn't hers. She hadn't been herself since she'd stepped into this establishment and felt every ounce of control being stripped away from her. She was filed down to her bare bones, left shivering and scared. He would've been so ashamed of her.

"Some more than others, though," Jenny hissed. Clara looked up and followed Jenny's eyes. After a moment of searching, she found herself looking at an older man, tall, with dark gray hair and fierce eyebrows. He was standing in line for lunch, but he had a huge circle of space around him, like everyone was too afraid to get close to him for fear of what he might do.

Clara looked at Vastra, confused.

"Is he…very dangerous?" She asked. "What did he do?"

Vastra looked towards the man as well. Her words were contemplative when she spoke.

"I don't know. But I do know this: even the screws are terrified of him. He runs the men's wing of this prison." Vastra responded. She looked back towards Clara. "Whatever he did, he doesn't feel sorry for it."

Clara tucked her hands in her lap.

"How do you—" Clara stopped. She blinked and looked down at her tray, afraid she'd become too inquisitive.

"How do I know that?" Vastra asked. Her lips curled up into that same predatory smile. "Because he's the only person in this prison I fear."


	2. Chain of Command

It was odd to stare up at the sky.

Clara could remember vividly the way clouds dissolved as you flew through them, the way the sunlight illuminated masses of them until they looked like vats of swollen sunlight. She recalled the rough texture of his palm against the small of her back as they trilled off coordinates and codes and things that made sense to her then, but seemed largely insignificant now. She pressed her palms into the hard, dry ground and leaned back on her arms, trying to make sense of the earth beneath her, but she still wasn't used to being grounded yet. She still hadn't stopped.

She credited her military training when she found a concealed spot in the outdoors yard, a good distance from any other inmates. It was a narrow space between a garbage bin and the fence that was just big enough for Clara, and she preferred it that way. The morning had left her head spinning and it was nice to look up at the sun and exist. It was easy to ignore the periodic leers from the male inmates as they spotted her, because she knew how to take care of herself. Perhaps they read that on her face, because none of them approached her.

Of course, she often gave herself a little _too much _credit.

"You're in my spot."

Clara lowered her eyes from the sky. A surge of pain shot down the length of her neck from the cramped position she'd had it in for what had to have been half an hour. She shielded her eyes from the sun and squinted forward at the person coming into view. It was a bulky inmate, with hard eyes and ham-like fists. Most notably of all, she was utterly bald, with a tattoo of a goose covering her scalp. In Clara's tranquil state, she almost felt her previous self return. She almost narrowed her eyes and told _her_ to get lost. But then the inmate slammed her fist into the side of the metal garbage bin and the sound became the deep roar of a jet spiraling down and—

Clara rose to her feet.

"Sorry. Didn't know. I'm new here." She muttered.

The inmate stepped past her roughly, purposely knocking their shoulders together. Clara tensed her muscles to keep from stumbling, just because she didn't want to give the woman the satisfaction. She wedged herself into the spot Clara had just vacated and then glowered up at her.

"Now you know, birdy. And if I see you again—even in the servery—I'll fuck you up."

Clara pursed her lips.

"Right."

She spent the rest of the hour making slow laps around the giant, fenced-in area, too uncertain to stop near anyone for fear of what she might be getting herself into.

* * *

She'd been the boss her entire life.

And then her mum died, and it was something she couldn't control. She let herself unravel.

She'd been the very first female wing commander since the merge.

And then she took it too far.

She'd once had a man's heart cradled in the palm of her hand. She could've made him do anything she wanted, but she didn't.

That 'but' had been her downfall. Her love had once been her strongest asset, but in a moment of trial, it became her weakness.

She was deconstructing herself again.

* * *

She was greeted by the sight of a cardboard box when she entered her cell.

"Screws finally dropped off your items," Vastra called, without even looking up. She was already reading a different book than the one she'd been reading last night.

Clara felt her heart lighten enough that it actually rose from its place in the pit of her stomach. She crossed over to her bed quickly and pulled the top off, her eyes scanning the contents greedily. It was all boring stuff—paper, stamps, pencils, envelopes, books, underwear, an alarm clock, trainers—but it was suddenly the greatest gift she'd ever been given. As her fingers trailed over the items, she realized she loved her father more in that moment than she ever had before. She could've cried in his arms and it would've been first time she'd shed a tear in years.

She set about unpacking her items and placing them around her side of the room. With objects that were _hers_, objects that she could control, she felt a bit better. She took a long time organizing everything and made a point of alphabetizing her books. She stacked her paper and her envelopes, she lined up the pencils on her desk. She placed her underwear and spare shoes in a drawer and plugged the clock up. She'd been at it for an hour before she realized Vastra was watching her.

"Did you check inside the shoes?" She asked, not at all embarrassed to have been found ogling. "They usually place smaller items inside, so they don't get lost in the shuffle."

Clara looked at her for a few awkward seconds, and then she turned back around. She pulled the second drawer open and peeked down at the shoes. She tucked her fingers inside the left, and then the right—and then she stopped.

Vastra spotted the shift in her posture.

"I figured. Most people send watches—it's miserable to be in bang-up without a consistent way to tell time. Is it a nice one? You can make some great trades with watches. They're difficult to get a hold of once you're inside."

Clara grasped the gold band between her thumb and index finger. She could hear her pulse roaring in her ears as she lifted it up and out of the shoe. She stared at the scratched face. She gently puddled it into her palm and touched the cool gold with her fingertips. Her father had cleaned it beautifully—there was no blood to be seen. There were no noticeable functional faults—besides the scratches, it was just as it'd always been.

"Oz?" Vastra asked. Clara heard her mattress squeak as she rose. Clara turned her back to Vastra as she approached, embarrassed and scared to be found crying over a wristwatch. She wanted to turn and tell Vastra to keep it, to trade it, to do what she wanted with it—but even as she felt that desire, she was latching it around her own left wrist. Her dad had taken many links out for her, so even though it was a bit large, it didn't slide off her hand. The watch face twisted to rest naturally over the blue veins of her wrist, as if it remembered the way the previous owner wore it.

"Yeah," Clara finally said. She didn't want Vastra to think she was ignoring her. "It's a beautiful one."

She turned and lifted her wrist to show her. She pretended her eyes weren't damp.

"Mmm, I see," Vastra said. She gave Clara a hard look. "You'd better keep a close eye on your hand."

It didn't take long for the implication to become apparent.

* * *

"I want to send a letter." Clara said. She was sitting on her bed, her eyes trained on the paper littering her chest-of-drawers. "I have stamps. And envelopes. What do I do?"

"You'll need to leave it unsealed and drop it in a post box. They're outside the servery." Vastra responded. "Make sure to put your prison number in there. If your correspondent doesn't include that number on the envelope when they write back, you won't get it." She'd been watching the clock for the past thirty minutes. Their hour of 'recreational time' was approaching, and Vastra seemed uncharacteristically impatient. As far as Clara knew, the inmates were free to play pool, go to the library, watch television, or go to the gym. She thought she might stay in the cell and write to Danny.

"Can I go to the post box during recreation?"

Vastra's eyes snapped towards hers, wide with something akin to horror.

"Surely you're not thinking of staying in here and writing a _letter_?" She breathed. She sounded almost insulted. Clara floundered.

"Oh…erm, well, I was—"

Vastra leaned forward.

"We get three hours and fifty minutes outside this cell a day. And you want to spend one hour of that in here, doing what you could be doing during the time we're locked in?" She demanded.

Clara almost caved. But the she remembered—with almost a rush of surprise—that she was still the one who knew herself best. She might not know or understand the way of prison yet, but she still knew what she wanted. She was still in control in small ways, and if that was all she had, she'd cling to it.

She spun her watch around her wrist almost nervously.

"Yes. I want to write a letter. It's very important." Clara reiterated. Her voice was firmer than it'd been the entire time, enough so that it seemed to throw Vastra for a moment. Her eyebrows rose in shock.

"Well," she started, and Clara feared she was insulted, but she smiled a moment later. "All right."

Clara was on edge, waiting for more, but it never came. Vastra turned back to the clock.

"Only an hour now." She muttered, more to herself than Clara.

And that was that.

* * *

They had forty minutes until recreation. Vastra seemed too impatient to read or write letters, so she turned to the next best hobby in the room: her cell mate.

"There's no point in keeping what you did a secret, you know," she stated. Her tone was light and conversational, but Clara could tell there was a hint of condescension lurking just below. "You're in a Cat A prison with serial killers, rapists, and terrorists. Everybody knows you've done something bad."

Clara looked up from her letter. She'd only made it twenty words in. What was there to say? She almost preferred Vastra's conversation to the wreck panning out on the page.

She considered her words carefully. Her barrister had told her not to tell anyone what she was in for, but he'd also told her there was a chance she could walk, too. And he'd been dismally wrong about that.

"I was supposed to be in a Cat B." Clara shared, after some hesitation. "Only I was a bit too "manipulative" in court."

Vastra arched an eyebrow.

"Oh? I have to say—never heard that before. Do tell. Let's hear more."

Clara ducked her head and let her hair fall in front of her face. Behind the curtain, she couldn't make out much. Her words were soft.

"I don't really want to talk about what I did."

Vastra snorted.

"Oh, come off it, Oz. I've been playing along, but there's no use manipulating me with your tragic role of guilty inmate. You're a clever criminal—or, in the law's language, a high-risk prisoner. That's why they placed you with me."

Clara shifted the book and paper off her lap. She tucked her hair behind her ear and blinked at Vastra in confusion.

"They didn't tell me that." She said uneasily.

"Of course they didn't. The OMU puts prisoners who fall into two different categories with me, so I can frighten them into submission. There are the murderous psychopaths, they make up the first group—" she held up her index finger. "And then there are the volatile vigilantes." Her middle finger joined her index. Clara watched her lips curl up into a smirk. "So which are you?"

* * *

_There were red flashing lights and reverberating siren wails. Projected images of maps and quick conversations uttered in code. Sheets of hail pattering onto the roof, soldiers marching in anxious formations around command. And there were words flashing on a black screen._

_Sqn Ldr John Smith—squadron to base C._

_She hadn't been anxious for even a moment before. But the minute her eyes scanned over that combination of letters, she felt something shift inside of her. She shoved past commanding officers and pushed her way to the Air Commodore._

_"No!" She said, and that was the beginning of everything. She felt at least twenty pairs of eyes weighing on her. "No! You cannot dispatch that squadron!"_

_"I'm _sorry_?"_

_"They're mine! It's part of my flying wing! I say when and where they go, and they are _not_going tonight!"_

_"You need to remember your rank, Oswald. Step down."_

_He went to circle around her. She took a step to the right, barring his passage. The room was quivering._

_"Call them down." She ordered, lowly and fiercely. When the Air Commodore only laughed, she took a step closer to him. "CALL THEM DOWN!"_

_It was quiet then except for the echoing of the sirens and the fizzy words coming over the radio. Clara flinched when Danny set his hand on her shoulder. He'd hurried over the moment she began making a scene._

_"Clara," he said gently. "Come on."_

_"Get your Wing Commander under control, Pink." The Air Commodore spat._

_Clara turned and looked up at Danny. She was choking beneath her panic._

_"Danny, he's sending John's squadron!" She wasn't thinking about her words. She was just thinking about the conversation she'd just had with these same officers only minutes before. About how this was surely a death mission. "He's mine! He can't send him! He's _mine_!"_

_Danny rubbed her shoulder, his face twisted with sadness. But Clara could tell he'd already known. He looked towards the Air Commodore._

_"Arnold, can't we send another squadron? You know how well Clara's men work underneath her, Smith in particular. Why dispose of a working unit?"_

_"It was a calculated decision." He replied, coolly and indifferently. "Now get out of my way, Oswald. Or you'll be dismissed."_

_She felt Danny's hip press against hers, his pistol grinding against her hipbone. She glanced towards him for just a moment, but in that moment of eye contact, a million things transferred between them. And then Clara turned and punched him in the jaw, hard. Hard enough that he went sprawling backwards (although Clara saw him throw himself backwards with a bit more gusto than her hit could've possibly caused). Once he was lying on his back, she stood over his body. She reached down and undid his weapon. He made of show of reaching to grab her hands and wrestle with her, but in the end, he'd only wanted to caress her wrist. She kissed him with her eyes before she lowered her fist back to his skull, in just the right place to 'knock him unconscious'. She made sure the hit wasn't too hard. He played dead beneath her._

_She was surprisingly steady as she turned and faced the Air Commodore. Everyone's breath was lodged somewhere in their chest. It made the room seem strangely weightless, like it was suspended in a moment right before tragedy falls. That breathless moment of _no, this can't happen to me.

_"STOP."_

_She didn't even look at what she was doing. She kept her eyes on the Air Commodore as she pressed the side button and ejected the magazine. She leaned over Danny and pulled out whatever ammo she could find._

_"WE'LL FIRE!"_

_Empty threats and empty heads. That was all they were. She filled the magazine and then slammed it down into her palm, snapping it back into place. She gripped the gun firmly in her hand and then lowered the safety lever with her thumb. Her wrist was shaking just slightly as she righted the weapon. She could feel her eyes searing._

_"You'll send him back here, or I'll _make you."_ She ordered._

_The Air Commodore made a move for his own weapon, but Clara reached up and pulled back the slide on her weapon. She re-positioned it._

_"One more move and I fire!"_

_Everyone took her seriously this time. They lifted their hands into the air and looked around at each other. Clara felt Danny's foot bump against her ankle, but only just. No one else noticed._

_"We will not follow your rules, Oswald. Stop this before it gets too far. We know you're upset. But he's already been deployed. There's nothing we can do. His coordinates are privileged; the only way you'd find him would be if you somehow got control over everyone in this room, but you alone don't have the manpower to—" he stopped. Clara saw the realization of what he'd just suggested pass over his face._

_Clara lowered the gun just slightly. And then she smiled._

_"Thank you, Arnold. _Thank you_."_

* * *

"So?" Vastra pressed. "Which are you? First group or second?"

Clara closed her hand over John's wristwatch. She looked up and met Vastra's eyes.

"Both."

* * *

_Danny,_

_Prison could be the army, except the only thing people are fighting for here is themselves. It is not enough._

* * *

"I'll think I'll come after all." Clara said. She folded her twenty-word letter and set it aside. Vastra looked at her differently now, like she respected her more, and Clara couldn't help but feel validated by it.

"You're welcome to come to the library with Jenny and me." She offered. "We're researching a ring of child pedophiles that might be transferred in sometime this month."

Clara furrowed her brow.

"Uh…why?"

"So we can punish them, of course." Vastra responded. She rose right as a screw yelled down the corridor. "Coming?"

They'd made it halfway through the common area when they heard sudden shrieks. Clara slowed and looked up at Vastra uncertainly. Vastra waved it off and motioned for her to keep moving, but the room filled soon after that with the sound of screaming and whistles. People began to panic.

"Christ," Vastra sighed. She grabbed Clara's forearm and tugged, weaving them through the pandemonium.

"ALL INMATES MUST RETURN TO THEIR CELLS."

Vastra looked up at the speaker spewing the command.

"Is that so? Oh, lovely," she groaned. She looked to Clara. "Go back to our cell. I'll find out what's happening. I've just got to get to Jenny."

Clara looked around her, overwhelmed by the people closing in. The room seemed to be made up of a squirming orange mass. She glanced back to Vastra to nod, but she'd already disappeared.

Around halfway between the common room and her cell, she reverted back to her training automatically. She used her elbows to maneuver through people, dodging opened doors and trash bins, until finally she spotted her corridor. She was nearing the mouth of it when something darted forward from a side hallway, effectively entering her path of motion. She'd been moving too quickly; she crashed right into it before she could stop herself.

Judging by the warmth and the sound of a rapid heart, it wasn't a something. It was a_someone._ A chest, in particular.

Clara jumped back. She was about to mumble something and push past them, but then she peered up and saw who it was she'd bumped into. Her throat closed up for a moment and she stared, wide-eyed.

"I-I'm so, so sorry," Clara choked out. Her eyes were so wide she was sure she looked ridiculous. She stared at a vague point on the inmate's orange shirt, afraid to meet his steel eyes. The urge to flee was great, but she felt that would've been a mistake. She held her ground—all too aware of how _closely _she was standing to him—and then finally craned her head up.

He wasn't smiling, but he didn't look particularly furious, either. His eyes bore intently into hers.

"Don't be."

Her lips parted in surprise, but before she could process it any further, he turned and continued through another doorway. Clara stood still in the sea of people until a screw screamed at her to get moving, and then she shook her head and hurried back to her cell.

* * *

Vastra was one of the last to return.

Clara was staring blankly at her letter, still not sure how to go on. She welcomed the distraction.

"So what'd you find out?" She asked.

Vastra seemed troubled by something. She sat down heavily on the edge of her bed and wrung her green hands uneasily.

"The Doctor's attacked an inmate." She muttered, dazed.

Clara waited for more, but it never came. She blinked.

"Erm…is that…something new?"

Vastra lifted her head.

"You know the male prisoner Jenny showed you at lunch? The—"

"Yes," Clara interrupted quickly. Vastra lifted an eyebrow. Clara's thoughts drifted between the man she'd seen in line and the man she'd just run straight into. "Uh, yes. The…older man. Yes." She cleared her throat. "He…hurt somebody?"

"Yes. For the first time in twenty years." Vastra answered. "Everyone's so scared of him that no one's tried to hurt him, and he never went out of his way to hurt them either, until just now."

Clara realized with a sinking feeling that he must've been running from the screws when they crossed paths. Why else would he have been in the women's wing?

"Why? Do you know who?"

Vastra looked up. She seemed generously shaken up, although Clara wasn't sure why.

"A woman. He only knocked a few teeth loose, but she's _terrified _out of her wits. Something he said really shook her."

Clara shifted uncomfortably. Her heart rate picked up, like she'd just narrowly dodged a bullet.

"Why? Were they fighting?"

Vastra shrugged.

"As far as I know, he didn't even know her. It was Jessica. She's one of the tougher inmates—bit of a bully. You might've seen her. She's bald and she's got a goose tattoo on her head." Vastra pointed at her own head, indifferent to the way Clara's eyes suddenly widened. "But, I'll tell you one thing. The Doctor's got access to every file in this prison. He knows everything about everyone. And if he went out of his way to terrify Jessica into submission, she's done something terrible." Vastra shook her head, troubled. "I just don't know why he's waited until now. She's been in this prison for at least seven years."

Clara reached for the cup of water beside her bed. She took a deep drink and tried to ignore the way her knees were quaking. She thought back to that morning in the exercise yard, when Jessica had threatened her. She held her cup between both her hands and looked at Vastra.

"You said she's a bully, right? Does—does 'the Doctor' target bullies?"

"Like I said. He hasn't done a violent thing in twenty years." Vastra reiterated. She inclined her head to the side thoughtfully. "Actually, we don't even know if he's _ever _done a violent thing. Not with any real certainty." She leaned back against the wall, her legs hanging over the side of the bed. "It's all very strange. It definitely gives me something to keep an eye on."

Clara ran her forefinger over the rim of her cup.

"Yeah. Definitely." She agreed.

* * *

After consuming every bit of her dinner, she pulled the letter back into her lap and kept going.

_Danny,_

_Prison could be the army, except the only thing people are fighting for here is themselves. It is not enough._

_But I could be wrong about that. _


	3. Adaptation

**A/n:** I'll be out of the country and therefore internetless starting the 25th, but I'm adding 1 to 2 (unsure yet) chapters of this fic to my queue on tumblr to post while I'm away. I'll post them all to FF once I'm back, but if you want to stay up to date in the meantime, it's all going to the "fic: banged up" tag on tumblr (and obviously my blog- there's a link to it on my profile). Thank you to all who read and reviewed- I really appreciate it and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

It'd been an alarming four days since she'd last showered, so when their cells were opened that night around eight, Clara was breathless with relief.

"Thank God," she exhaled. She rose to her feet and grabbed the toiletries she'd had waiting out for the past two hours. "One more night and I might scratch my scalp off."

She'd made it to the mouth of the cell when she realized Vastra hadn't moved. She turned and looked at her uncertainly.

"Shower?" She prompted. When Vastra pursed her lips, Clara felt her heart plummet. She lowered the items in her arms, horrified. "No. No, no. What?"

"They give each corridor twenty minutes to shower," she began. Clara waited for more, her eyebrows practically kissing her hairline. Vastra nodded towards the hordes of people walking past. "There's only twelve showers."

Clara's eyes bulged almost comically. She didn't spare a second; she snatched the towel they'd issued her and took off, all but shoving her way through the crowds. All she knew was that she couldn't stand to go another day without bathing, and if she had to incapacitate people to make sure that didn't happen, well…she'd fought for lesser things.

When she approached the showering room, she found herself at the tail-end of a forty-person queue, most already in towels. Clara looked down at her clothed body and then to the towel in her hand, realizing she probably should've asked Vastra for more details.

"Oz!"

Clara spun around in relief, but it wasn't Vastra calling to her. It was her counterpart. Jenny hurried over, ignoring the crossed mutterings of those she pushed past. She too was in her towel only, clothes nowhere in sight. She beamed as she stopped in front of Clara.

"You've survived!" She celebrated sweetly. "I knew you would. They always put the very bravest with Vastra."

Clara smiled tightly. She leaned in closer to Jenny and lowered her voice.

"I was supposed to undress _before_, wasn't I?"

Jenny smiled sympathetically. She reached up and patted her shoulder. "Yes, but it's okay. Almost everyone does this their first day. Don't be too upset if you don't get to shower—you usually don't until you can find a mate."

Clara licked her lips and angled her head to the side, her face pursing in confusion.

"A…mate. Like a normal mate mate, or like a…_mate _mate?"

Jenny blinked.

"A shower mate." She clarified. But Clara was still a bit confused.

"So…the latter, then?" She summarized slowly.

Jenny parted her lips, befuddled, but then a green hand settled lightly on her bare shoulder. Clara looked up at Vastra, partially relieved.

"The type of mate depends entirely on the two." She answered coyly. She turned her gaze to the long, overwhelming queue and then glanced down at her plastic black watch. She looked down at Jenny. "We'll get in, but only just."

Clara let out a relieved sigh. She beamed after a moment.

"That's a relief, because I was worried I'd—"

The look Vastra was giving her made her words halt.

"What?" She demanded. She was getting sick of surprises.

"Jenny and I get to go ahead of Lucy. She owes us." Vastra explained. She pointed towards the front of the line, at a woman already waiting to the side, her eyes on the two women. Clara drew in a short breath and tried her hardest to keep from rolling her eyes.

"Right," she muttered underneath her breath. "It _has _been that sort of day."

She dropped her items to the floor and extended her towel for Jenny.

"Will you hold this while I change?" She asked tiredly.

Jenny smiled.

"Of course I will."

Clara could feel her stunned indifference—the odd numbness that'd fallen over her a month ago—starting to lift. She didn't know if it was just because of the situation, of the fact that she wasn't even in control of her own _body_ the way she needed to be, but she was feeling reckless and testy. She could very easily see herself storming to the front of the line and causing a scene, but she couldn't do that. Her barrister had made it painfully clear to her that any instances of her old self would cause her misery in prison. She'd tried to listen to him, and it hadn't been difficult at first, but every hour she spent here she became more and more _angry_. And it was suddenly possible to feel that anger. She didn't know if she was frightened of herself or simply thrilled to feel anything at all.

She yanked her shirt over her head and then quickly stepped out of her trousers, reaching immediately for the towel in Jenny's arms. She wrapped it around herself and then reached underneath to pull her underwear off—but at that moment whistles and shouts erupted. Clara turned, startled, to see a group of men passing by the entrance to their hall. This time, she really did roll her eyes.

"You're coming out of your shell," Vastra commented. Clara could feel her eyes on her as she worked her bra off. She bundled up her clothes in her arms and then tightened the towel around her body. Vastra looked impressed. "And you're a prettylittle thing! You were hiding all that underneath your uniform?"

Jenny backhanded Vastra's shoulder crossly, but she smiled a moment later. Clara crossed her arms.

"I'm dirty, cross, and starving. And I think I'd kill a man for a shower."

"And that means a lot coming from a prisoner." Jenny supplied, giggling afterwards at her own joke.

"I think the shock's wearing off." Vastra said. She seemed vaguely humored. "You know, Oz, you're welcome to join us. Just this once."

Clara shifted her items to her left arm and then reached up, gathering her dirty hair in her right.

"Join you? As in—all three of us in one shower?"

"Precisely. Though we'll only have five minutes…unfortunately."

"Oi!" Jenny protested. She turned to Clara. "_Ignore _her. She's just poking fun."

Clara hesitated.

"It's very sweet of you to—"

Her words were trampled over by Lucy. She approached them nervously.

"Madame Vastra, you'd better come now—they're going to shut the showers off early tonight. Something about a schedule issue with Hall 6."

Clara looked to Jenny in surprise. _Madame _Vastra? But Jenny wasn't looking towards her. Vastra nodded firmly.

"Of course. Jenny, come along. Oz—are you in or out?"

Clara froze when put on the spot. She felt like the gears in her mind weren't turning the way they normally did in tense situations. But she did know she was angry.

"They're cutting the showers off early?" Clara asked. She didn't think to monitor her volume. She only vaguely noticed that people were looking her way. "Can they do that? Just cut off showers? Can they do any of this? Don't we have the basic human right be clean? When I was in induction they let me shower _once _the whole week I was there. It's inhumane and _cruel_. We—"

"All right, we get it," Vastra hissed, her palm warm over Clara's lips. She leaned closer and breathed her next words so only they could hear it. Her eyes were serious. "_Shut. Up." _

Clara struggled with her pride. She nodded after a painful moment. Jenny reached forward and took her hand.

"You need the shower, Oz." She looked up at a screw as they passed. "Don't mind this one. Still scattered. Bless."

Vastra warned her with her eyes the entire walk to the only empty shower. Clara wasn't really sure how she felt about being naked that close with two relative strangers, but she realized quickly that it was either two relative strangers or two complete strangers. There were at least two people in every curtain-less stall, most furiously scrubbing, a few laughing. Clara wasn't a stranger to other women's naked bodies, but that many in such an enclosed space was a bit shocking.

She was suddenly shy when it came time to peel her towel off, but then Vastra turned the water on, and she forgot how to do everything but surge forward. She wedged herself between the back wall and the stream, slipping around in the rubber shower shoes. The spray was weak and pathetic, but she managed to completely soak her hair through and scrub it clean with shampoo. She kept her eyes averted politely as Vastra washed Jenny's back for her, entirely at ease with the situation in a way Clara wasn't yet. After Clara pulled her soap-less hair out of the spray and set about scrubbing her body, Vastra turned to her and struck up a conversation, like their hands hadn't just accidentally grazed basically every part of each other's body.

"You'll regret what you said out there." Vastra called. She spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the roar of the water without anyone beyond their little group hearing it. Clara risked stepping closer, her arm moving slower over her leg as she washed.

"What? Why?"

"Only thing they fear more than inspections? Mutiny."

The bar of soap in her palm slipped and went flying out, hitting Jenny in the knee and then landing on the dirty shower floor. Clara was too distracted to even notice for a moment.

"Oh." She said. She thought back to Vastra's words earlier, about the type of people they put with Vastra. Then she thought about her barrister's passionate insisting that she keep her crimes a secret. She felt nauseated and the heat from the shower wasn't helping. She took a step from the stream and looked down at her pink bar of soap, drowning in the dirty water. She'd only just moved towards it when all the showers shut off, leaving most every woman in the room crying out in protest.

"Don't touch it," Vastra warned Clara, her eyes also on her bar of soap. "You'll have to buy another on canteen."

Clara was shivering the entire walk back to the cell, even after she warmed up.

* * *

Her wet hair dripped water onto her letter to Danny, so she had to toss it.

She didn't want him to worry it was tears.

She felt an odd sort of camaraderie form between her and Vastra as they dried off and dressed together, a type of unity she thought she'd never feel again. That sense of togetherness was the first thing she fell in love with in the army. She'd despised everything about it at the start—until she met John and Danny. And then she'd worked her way up. Once she was the one in control, she loved it. She flourished. She had people under her command, two best friends she would've given her life for in a second, and everything was aligned in her universe. She knew upon her arrest that the thing she would miss most of all wouldn't be the control. It'd be the sense of family. She'd never felt her mum's presence inside her more than she did in moments she was rousing up her squadrons. Leading men into battlefields was nothing more than telling a child a goodnight story, when it really came down to it. And she felt that same sense of togetherness then, as she watched Vastra rub her towel over her short, wet hair.

"What?" Vastra asked.

Clara sat down on the edge of her bed after tugging her shirt all the way on. She reached behind her and pulled her wet hair over her shoulder.

"I just wanted to thank you. For the shower."

Vastra stared at her for a beat. Then she dropped the towel to the floor and turned, so she was staring fully at Clara. She sat down on her own bed with an air of finality.

"Thank me by being honest."

Clara winced. She shifted uncomfortably and then busied herself with putting her watch back on.

"I'm not supposed to."

"Says who?"

"My barrister."

"Yes, well, he's done a great job of keeping you safe so far." Vastra said sarcastically. Clara said nothing, though she recognized Vastra was right. "We'll keep it simple. No fuss, no mess. I'll ask you a question and you answer it in only one word. As long as you're honest, it's enough."

Clara pulled her fingers through her wet hair nervously. She considered Vastra.

"Okay." She finally said.

After all, what did she have to lose? Vastra was the only person in this prison who was even somewhat looking out for her, although Clara still wasn't convinced she wouldn't throw her to the dogs if it ever came down to it. Very soon now she wouldn't need anyone but herself, but until she learned all there was to learn, she needed a teacher. She was amazingly self-reliant, but in order to get to that point, she had to first understand who she was in the context of this place. She had to know the rules before she could rewrite them.

"What got you landed here?" Vastra asked. Clara hadn't expected her to beat around the bush.

She hesitated. She wracked her brains for a way to express it all in just one word.

"Both?" She finally asked hesitantly.

Vastra arched an eyebrow.

"I wasn't aware there was more than one thing. Start with the worst offense first." She prompted.

Clara lifted her left hand to push back her hair, but she was startled for a moment to hear a soft _tick, tick, tick. _She realized it was the watch, and when she brought her wrist to her ear, it was almost like there was another pulse there. Another heart ticking away beside hers. And there had been. Once.

She closed her eyes.

"Murder."

She counted ten ticks before Vastra replied.

"I assumed. How many counts?"

She let the ticks tell it. _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…_she waited.

"Eleven."

Vastra whistled.

"All by your hand? And at once? I'm a singles girl, myself. I like to savor it one at a time, don't like to feel rushed." Vastra shared. Clara still couldn't open her eyes. "Weapon?"

She felt a rush of comfort when her own heartbeat synced with the watch's ticking. She thought quickly to Sundays in green fields, her head resting on John's chest, his heart ticking away with hers, Danny chatting underneath the sun about something or another…

Clara opened her eyes. When the room came back into focus, the illusion shattered. She let her wrist fall back into her lap.

"People."

Vastra grinned hugely. She leaned forward, her forearms on her thighs.

"And I'm guessing this is where it gets interesting." She commented. "Feel free to explain with more than one word. Do you need to?"

Clara stared down at the dingy tile. She shook her head.

"No." She admitted. She looked back to Vastra. "Mutiny."

Vastra clasped her hands together in her lap.

"Mutiny." She repeated.

Clara took a deep breath. She let it fill her lungs and then she held it in them for a moment, like she might gain more from it that way. She slowly exhaled.

"Yes. Mutiny." She affirmed. She felt dazed. "And do you know what I regret?"

"I'm guessing it's not the mutiny, judging by the expression on your face."

"No." Clara agreed. She thought back to the bloodshed, the race in the sky, the horrifying realization. And she knew, had she the chance to do it over again, there was only one thing she'd want to go differently.

"What I regret more than anything—what keeps me awake in my dreams—is that we never achieved what we set out to do."

But that had been a bit too much. She felt her throat ache and burn. She pulled her legs up onto her bed and slowly curled up on her side, so her back was to Vastra. She pressed the watch face to her cheek and breathed in time.

"There's something in you, Oz," Vastra spoke up a little while later. Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "I saw it in you the moment we met. Something in you inspires people. I just haven't decided what exactly it inspires yet."

Clara stared at the wall beside her bed and didn't respond, but she already knew. It was foolishness.

"They'll punish you for it, you know. Your barrister was right."

Clara inhaled slowly and deeply. She felt her stomach expand. She counted how long she could hold her breath, as if having control over something like that might make things easier. All it did was leave her lightheaded.

"Yeah," she finally said. "I know."

Vastra didn't slap her that night. She called her name from across the room, not even bothering to rise from her bed. Clara came into consciousness slowly enough to hear the words she'd been sobbing in her sleep.

_I didn't bring him home—I didn't bring him home. _

She cried the entire night, her face resting atop her wrist. Vastra ignored it and drifted in and out of sleep for hours, but around five AM, Clara heard her huff. Her mattress squeaked. It only took her three steps to reach Clara's bed. She sat on the edge like a haggard mother.

"You can't do this every night. If anyone sees you, they'll give you hell."

"I've already got it."

"No you don't. Trust me." Vastra snapped. "Just do what I do. Wait until lunch and then talk to Jenny. It'll help."

Somehow, the thought of Jenny was comforting. Perhaps just because she'd been the warmest person she'd met so far. But that still didn't change the past.

"I can't fix it." She whispered. Her words shivered. "He's dead, and I can't change him back." She choked on the words that spilled from her next. "It was my job to protect him."

"And you failed. You let him die and you can't change it. But guess what? He's dead. Whoever he is, he's dead, and he doesn't care that you're lying awake crying for him. Self-pity will get you nowhere."

It was her sleep deprivation. She knew it had to be. It caused every bit of anger she'd been storing away since her arrest to flare terribly in one quick moment. She sat up and turned, pinning Vastra with wet, accusing eyes.

"Don't talk to me like that. How dare you talk to me like that! You don't know—you have no _idea_!" Her anger cumulated with her hand rising to smack at Vastra, but she didn't let her get that far. She reached up and grabbed onto Clara's hand tightly. She squeezed to the point of pain.

"Feel that?" She asked. Clara tugged furiously. "That's anger. And you're going to need every bit of it to survive."

She let go of her hand and rose up from the bed. Clara's cheeks were hot underneath the wetness from her tears.

"You're welcome." Vastra told her coldly.

Clara shook underneath the thin blanket until breakfast arrived.

* * *

She was torn apart come morning. She ran to the only thing she had left: her books.

She spent her morning quietly rereading_ Meditations. _She wasn't sure how Vastra felt about the disaster the night prior, so she decided she wouldn't speak to her until she spoke first. She didn't have to wait long.

"You look a lot better."

Clara glanced up. She was sitting cross-legged on top of her bed, the book resting on her calves. She touched the words she'd been reading over and over, committing to memory, considering.

"Marcus Aurelius said: _You have __power over your mind - not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength._" She smiled genuinely. "I like that."

"Somehow, Oz, it doesn't surprise me that you like that."

It wasn't a compliment. Clara didn't care.

"Thanks."

* * *

She was single-minded during lunch.

Luckily, Vastra wasn't too cross with her.

"I need to phone someone." Clara said.

"And I need to locate these pedophiles and drink their blood, but we all don't get what we want." Vastra murmured distractedly. She and Jenny had spent the entire meal scanning the crowds. As far as Clara could tell, it was extremely ridiculous that they placed the volatile vigilantes with Vastra, as she was proving to be the queen of all vigilantes.

She voiced that thought to Jenny and Vastra—she felt braver about speaking her mind after her relationship with Vastra survived the strained night they had. Vastra waved her hand.

"I'm reformed." She claimed airily. She perked up. "Quick. On the left, below the clock. I think that's Dean Traiger. Mark down his associates."

Clara looked at her doubtfully as her and Jenny took quick notes on the man.

"Right." She said.

Vastra proved to be no help at all, beyond murmuring something about a private cash account, so Clara decided to take matters into her own hands. She was starting to learn her way around the prison slowly, but she still had no idea who she needed to talk to about her finances, and she didn't really want to wait until recreation, either. So she decided to approach a screw during outdoors time.

"Excuse me," she said. The woman turned her focus away from the casually bickering friend group she'd been observing. "I was wondering where I'd direct inquiries about my private cash account?"

The screw snorted.

"I'm sure you have been, love."

Clara watched her turn and walk away without another word. She threw her head back and sighed.

"Problem?"

"Quite a few, actually." She snapped, before she could stop herself. She winced before she turned slowly around to face whoever was talking to her. She automatically regarded him suspiciously, as it was a rather malicious looking man. He was significantly older than her, but he lacked the appeal that Clara usually saw in older men. He just looked sleazy.

"Well, let's start with one, and then we'll work our down the list." He suggested.

Clara crossed her arms over her chest uncomfortably.

"Thanks, but they're all easy to manage alone."

"Oh yeah?" He asked. She didn't reply. "Let me tell you something, birdie. There are very few nice men here. So if one comes up to you and offers his help, it's your duty to yourself to take it."

Clara was caught between her desire to slap him across the face and her desire to stay enemy-free. She thought quickly to Jessica. And even though she knew there was no way yesterday's occurrences were anything but a coincidence—she couldn't help but feel so curious it made her reckless. If this man threatened her, would he show up injured by lights out? There was no reason for anyone to protect her—especially not someone she'd never strictly met—but she was just vain enough to wonder.

Fortunately, she didn't trust her vanity enough to try picking a fight.

"I did not mean to offend you." She drew out tiredly. "I was just curious about the private cash accounts. That's all."

"Now you want my help?" He scoffed. "Well, it's too fucking late now. You can't come crawling back to me now, you bitch."

Clara lifted an eyebrow.

"Uh…"

"What? You don't have anything to say?" He demanded.

Clara pursed her lips, confused.

"Erm, no, actually. Which is surprising if you know me."

He drew closer to her. Too close. Clara immediately took a huge step backwards to counteract his action.

"How long have you been here?" He asked her. There was a mad glint in his eyes that made Clara uncomfortable. "Long enough to long for someone between your thighs?"

The crassness of it made her grimace. She took another step backwards.

"Not _nearly _long enough for that."

He moved forward.

"I can see it in your eyes. You're desperate for it." He insisted. He nodded maniacally. Clara looked around her nervously. She didn't want to have to hit him. She wasn't sure whether she'd get a mark on her record for it or not. And she couldn't afford to be labeled any higher risk than she already was.

"Erm…I think that might be repulsion you're talking about? In my eyes?" Clara tried. She curled her hands into fists automatically.

"Why are you lying to yourself?" He demanded, loudly and furiously. He advanced forward, indifferent to the fact that she only retreated. She was about to resign herself to the fact that she'd have to hit him when she spotted something she'd missed before. As he drew closer, it was impossible to miss him. He towered behind the leering man—completely out of his line of vision but perfectly visible in Clara's—and cocked his head to the side inquisitively. He met her eyes and stared, his expression almost owlish.

Clara stared back, wide-eyed, unsure what he was trying to communicate. And then the leering man reached forward, as if to grope her, and her face must've said all he was looking for.

He extended his index finger and stabbed the man in the shoulder, hard.

"Excuse me," he called. His Scottish accent was in full display this time; she hadn't really noticed it the day prior. "Are you harassing my bonny girl?"

"_Your_—" his words died on his lips as soon as he spun around. He wilted under the man's glower. He actually seemed to shrink down.

The man—the Doctor, as Vastra had called him—turned his focus to Clara.

"Is he bothering you, Clara?"

It was the first time anyone had said her first name since she entered jail. She felt her skin tingle and her heart jolt with surprise.

"Not! I'm _not _bothering her!" The man quickly yelped. "I'm not! I wasn't!"

The Doctor's eyes shifted to cold malice so quickly that it sent a shiver down Clara's spine. He took a step closer and looked down at the man, his eyebrows practically touching his eyes.

"Good." He whispered. "Don't _ever _let me catch you doing it again."

The man shuffled off without shooting even one look back at them. Clara looked up, wrestling with what to say—only to find the Doctor was already walking away. The words she'd been building turned to dust in her mouth as she gaped after him. She shifted her weight from foot to foot as she tried to decide what to do. In a moment of recklessness, she chose to follow after him.

His legs were so much longer that she had to jog to catch up.

"Wait!" She called, before she could talk herself out of it.

He stopped walking, but he didn't turn around. He seemed to be simply waiting. Clara lost her edge the closer she got, until finally, she was standing beside him. She fiddled with her fingers nervously as she turned to face him.

"Yes?" He asked.

She got the impression bluntness would be received better than social tact.

"Are you guarding me?" She blurted.

Blood rushed to her face so quickly that she could _feel _her pulse in her cheeks. He regarded her coolly.

"My, my. What a lovely ego you have."

She was frazzled.

"Thanks," she said, before she really processed what he said. His upper lip curled up in amusement. And then he set off again. Clara stared after him for a second, and then she quickly caught up. She struggled to match his pace.

"How did you know my name?" She asked.

"I know everybody's name." He answered, his eyes still chained forward.

Clara grew confident every second he didn't seem to be attacking her. She was certain Vastra had been mistaken; he didn't seem harmful at all. But then she remembered what he'd done to Jessica. Perhaps he just wasn't harmful towards _her_.

"Do you beat up bullies for everybody?" She shot back.

He turned and looked down at her. He looked genuinely amused, even if he wasn't smiling. There was a certain glint in his eye that Clara had no trouble reading.

"No. Just for those I find physically endearing."

It was so honest she stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide and lips parted. Amazingly, he stopped as well. He turned and looked down at her.

"What?" Clara asked.

"Did you acquire hearing damage in the RAF?"

She blinked.

"_What_?" She repeated, startled.

"Honestly, Clara, I don't know how much plainer to make it."

She pointed at him. "_You _think I'm physically endearing?"

"Your nose delights me. I've been trying to decide what's wrong with it."

She was quiet as she tried to sort through the insults and the compliments. She wasn't sure which was which. The insults were uttered like compliments but the compliments were uttered as insults. She was having a hard time finding a category for a type of person who just openly said things like that. But then she remembered that this was a man who'd been in prison for twenty years, possibly in exile, judging by the way people avoided him. He was probably a category all in his own. And that was dangerous.

"Okay…" she said uneasily. "As far as I know, nothing's wrong with it."

"I'm still researching." He responded without hesitation. He reached forward and gently grabbed her hand so he could lift her wrist up. He examined her watch and then dropped her arm back to her side. "Perhaps I'll see you tomorrow, lovely wrists."

"Lovely _wrists_? Is that a nickname?" She demanded. "Because I honestly prefer bonny girl."

He looked at her for a long three seconds, like he was examining her for something. And then he turned and walked off. Clara was too startled to follow after him.

* * *

She was locked inside her own head for the rest of the outdoors time. She spent a while walking around, searching for the Scottish man, but he was nowhere to be found. She sat down on the grass and rested her forehead on her knees. That was where she stayed until time was over.

* * *

"I've got most every one of the pedophiles located." Vastra greeted her.

Clara sat down on her bed, suddenly exhausted enough to take a nap. She moved her copy of _Meditations _and leaned back. She stared up at the concrete ceiling.

"Congratulations." She muttered distractedly.

"Did you figure out your private cash balance?"

She'd forgotten. In the oddity of the afternoon, she'd actually _forgotten_. She wasn't sure if that frightened her or excited her. She'd been so desperate to talk to Danny, to tell him about her dreams, because she was certain that'd be the only way to make them go away. But she'd done all right on her own. Better than she thought she would, anyway.

"No." She admitted. "No one would help me."

"Oh." Clara could feel Vastra's eyes on her. "Well, don't look so worried. Jenny'll take care of it during recreation."

"I'm not worried about that." She answered honestly. She lifted herself up on her elbows. She bit her lip as she struggled with whether or not to say anything to Vastra. She was just so used to baring it all to John and Danny. She guessed that was just something else she'd have to get over. "You know the Doctor?"

"Not personally, no."

Clara ignored her. "Does he have any…shower mates?"

Vastra lifted an eyebrow.

"Why?" She asked slowly. She straightened in surprise. "Are you thinking of asking him to be _yours_? Because if you want to kill yourself, I can suggest at least ten safer ways to go about it."

Clara wanted to continue on with her questioning, but Vastra's statement halted that.

"Safer ways to _kill myself_? Somehow I doubt that."

Vastra shifted her notebook from her lap. She gained a suspicious air.

"Why are you so curious about him?"

Clara scoffed.

"Shut up. I'm not." She averted her eyes when Vastra looked at her doubtfully. "Okay, maybe I am a bit. Just because he's got a…reputation, right? I mean, does everyone think of him like that? Surely he's got friends, people he's nice to? People he, I dunno, helps? Or talks to?"

Vastra's confused expression turned quickly to pity.

"I know you're scared, and part of the process of adjusting to prison is looking for someone strong to protect you, but he's not interested. Although I admire the guts it takes to pick _him _as your first choice for prison husband."

Clara shifted impatiently.

"That's not what this is. I don't need someone strong to look after me. I'm strong. I can look after myself. I'm just _curious_."

Vastra didn't seem convinced, but she dropped the pitying look at least.

"Well, perhaps this will satiate your curiosity: the Doctor doesn't help people. Not anyone, not ever."

Clara shut her eyes as she inhaled slowly.

"That's what I was afraid of."


	4. Rebels

**A/n: **A thousand thank yous to those reading and reviewing!

* * *

She was dreaming of that night, but it wasn't the fire or the wreckage she was focusing on. It was what _wasn't _there. The lack of his voice on the radio, the lack of his body stumbling from the ruins, the lack of his arms around her. She remembered falling still for the first time since it'd all began. She remembered falling from her own aircraft, flanked by a few of the strongest who'd chosen to follow her into the fiery sky. She remembered the bite of the rocky ground as she was shoved to her knees, the pull of her shoulders as her arms were restrained behind her, the dig of someone's kneecap into her lower back. Her face was shoved into the gravel so hard that she'd felt her skin tear and rip. She hadn't cried then. She hadn't cried as she dug the gravel out of her shredded skin, alone in a dark cell. She hadn't even cried when she missed his funeral. But she cried as she dreamt of it.

She woke herself up this time. She must've been quietly weeping, because Vastra was snoring gently in her bed, unperturbed. She pried her wet cheek off her pillow and sat up slowly. She'd just shakily reached for the glass of water on the floor beside her bed when she heard someone clear their throat.

At first, the sight of him illuminated by the red safety lights made her freeze in terror. She only knew that he wasn't supposed to be there, that he was dangerous, that he could hurt her—but then she noticed the distance he kept from her door, the way his eyes were wide and echoing with something that looked like curious concern, the tense posture of his body. He wasn't looking at her like a predator would. He was looking at her like he was just as uneasy with the situation as she was.

"You were crying."

She pulled her arm back up, forgetting the water. She set her hands in her lap and stared at him for a few long moments, unsure how to react. He waited patiently.

"Yes," she finally agreed. Her voice was slow and measured. She paid rapt attention to every shift in his posture and his facial expression. She was having a hard time understanding his intentions, and that made him impossible to control or even predict.

His eyes moved from hers. She watched him scan his eyes down her body, but he didn't seem to be doing it for pleasure. There was no lust in his eyes, only deep interest. She didn't think there was much interesting about her at all. She wondered what he'd do when he realized that, too.

"Why?" He finally asked. He lifted his hand to his face a moment later. She watched him press the heel of his hand to his forehead with chagrin. "No, not—why. I know why. Why did I ask why? It's John. He's why you're here. He's why you've come."

Clara sat up straighter. She felt her heart clench at the sound of his name.

"John?" She asked sharply. She watched him slowly lower his hand. "Did you know John?"

"Yes. He used to write to me in here. He would write the most beautiful things about you. I wondered…but now I see. At least some things."

She forgot to be cautious or afraid. She swung her legs off the bed and stood. She padded her way slowly towards the door. She peeked at him through the open, barred window.

"What do you mean?" She demanded. "Who are you?"

_Did he love me? He says he did. But…did he? I want to believe he did. I want to believe he loved me enough to forgive me. _

"How did you get here?" She asked instead. "Aren't all the doors locked?"

He smiled, but it was sad and sarcastic and not at all happy.

"You ask a lot of questions, don't you? I suppose it's how you learn to manipulate."

It was an offhanded comment. Clara went up in arms anyway.

"I do _not _manipulate." She bit out, slowly and dangerously. That word always made her heart drop. It was a byproduct of her horrid court sessions.

He lifted his hands defensively.

"It was a compliment, Clara. It wasn't an insult. And as for how I got here—I can go anywhere I want in this prison. Except out." He paused. She watched his eyes dart from her mouth to her eyes. "I wanted to ask you something. But you were asleep."

She reached up and pushed her hair back from her face, overwhelmed and confused.

"Ask _me _something? You've been here for like twenty years. What would you want to ask _me_?"

"Still need to make that phone call?"

Clara froze. She eyed him uncertainty.

"What?"

"The phone call. I heard you were asking about phone calls. I was coming to see if you still needed some assistance." He explained.

She was caught between all his unanswered questions and the desire to yell _yes_! She wanted—needed—to know how he knew John, but she also needed—and wanted—to phone Danny. She wasn't sure she trusted him, either. But she didn't really trust anyone anymore.

"Maybe I do." She finally said, slowly and suspiciously. "How are you going to help me?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a narrow hand-held radio. It'd been built upon and dismantled, though. Enough that Clara could tell from the dim lighting.

"Open the door and take you to the phones." He replied easily. "Normally you can only phone numbers that have been preapproved, but I know a hack around the monitoring system."

Clara stared.

"I-I haven't got money on my pin," she admitted. She tried not to let her disappointment seep into her tone.

He arched a bushy eyebrow almost coyly.

"I do."

Clara hesitated. She knew what she wanted—what she wanted was to take him up on it immediately—but she was afraid of so many things. Of him, of getting caught. He seemed to read that on her face.

"Clara, Clara, Clara," he sang. He made her name sound almost musical. "I never would've thought you were one for fear. How long did you get?"

She licked her lips. "A long time."

He nodded. He almost looked sympathetic for a moment, but it passed.

"We won't get caught. But if we did, what exactly do you have to lose? They've already taken your freedom and your control. But there are ways to take it back."

She fiddled with her fingers.

"Why should I trust you?" She asked quietly.

"You shouldn't. You should trust yourself. You'd never put yourself in a dangerous situation, and even if you did, you're more than capable of getting yourself out of it." He replied coolly.

"You give me loads more credit than I deserve." Clara scoffed.

He pressed his lips together, like her words displeased him.

"I'll think you'll come to realize I give you just enough."

Clara observed him for a moment longer, and then, with a rush of abandon, she nodded.

"All right."

He approached her door, that device held ready in his hand. He looked up at her through the bars before he did anything. Their eyes locked and he held that gaze seriously, intently. It made the back of Clara's neck tingle, but it wasn't exactly unpleasant. She swallowed dryly.

"If I do you this favor, you've got to do me a favor." He told her.

That shattered the moment. Clara grimaced and stepped back, her nose scrunched with disgust. She gestured around her furiously.

"Seriously?!" She snapped, before she could stop herself. She felt her heart racing with anger. "All _this _for a blowjob?!"

He cocked his head to the side, amused.

"You really are a wee little egomaniac." He commented. "Absolutely beautiful, but mad."

Her vision was dancing with rage.

"Perhaps there will be a day when I'm desperate enough to service cross criminals, but that day is not today, and for the record, any oral sex from me would be worth _far more _than a phone call!"

"I'm sure it would. That's why that's not what I was asking for."

"Yes! And another thing, it's _inherently creepy_ that you—wait."

She blinked at him. His upper lip was curled up with dark humor, his arms crossed over his chest. Clara exhaled slowly.

"So…you weren't going to ask…"

"No. That's not the favor I was looking for. But it does say a lot about you and your impression of me that you thought that was the only thing I could possibly want from you."

"Oh." She looked down and shut her eyes briefly in chagrin. When she looked back up, he was watching her patiently.

"But it is a dual favor. And you won't understand either of them just yet."

She regarded him warily.

"Okay," she said slowly. "What?"

He stared at her, and for the briefest moment, Clara caught an expression of need in his gray eyes. But it passed over quickly.

"I need your help and I need you to let me touch you."

She reared back, but he continued before she could chastise him again.

"Not in a sexual way. Just your face. Just for a moment." He explained. He sounded too keen to sound embarrassed. Clara furrowed her expression.

"You want to…touch…my _face_? Like…my cheeks and forehead and nose?" She clarified slowly.

He nodded once, firmly.

"Yes. And I want you to be okay with it."

She shook her head, bemused.

"I—" she stopped, unsure what to say. "What's the thing you need help with?"

His lips curled up. He pressed a button on the strange device in his hand and it lit up green.

"Mutiny." He responded.

Clara's eyes widened as the door to her cell clicked open.

* * *

She could feel the Doctor's eyes on her as she brought the phone to her ear.

He'd been quiet the entire walk to the phones, keeping an almost suspicious distance between them. She'd stared at him from the corner of her eye, trying to gauge him to see if pressing him for information would be safe, but in the end she decided she didn't yet know him enough to risk it. She was afraid to set him off by asking too many questions. She had no idea what he'd do if he was set off. She had no idea who he even was.

She paused before she pressed Danny's number in. She kept her voice lowered so even he had to lean closer to make out what she was saying.

"I don't just routinely cause mutinies. It's not a hobby. What happened before…there were circumstances. Regardless of what the judge may have felt, I'm not a narcissistic threat to public safety. And I'm not in the business to cause rebellions anymore. I'm…reformed."

She'd stolen the word from Vastra. She could only hope she was a bit more truthful than she'd been.

The Doctor didn't seem bothered by her words.

"I was certain you'd say that. That's why I'm not asking for you to agree to cause a mutiny right this moment. I'm just asking you to agree you'll help me."

She shifted, frustrated.

"Okay, but how _exactly _do you want me to help you? Because I'm not interested in doing what I did in the RAF again. I won't cause any more deaths. I won't hurt any more people."

He nodded. Clara was unsure if he'd truly grasped her seriousness or not.

"I know. I just want you to listen to what I have to say. That's how I want you to help me. Just listen. Just see me."

Clara felt tired.

"Can't you just tell me what you want to say right now."

"No."

She lowered the phone and sighed.

"Why not?"

He stared. She waited.

"Because I want you to promise you'll stick around to hear it. However long it takes."

She could feel her mind spinning as it pulled apart his words. Her fingers felt weak and she had to quickly tighten them to keep the receiver from slipping out of her grasps. She was hesitant.

"So…you're asking for my…company?" She asked quietly.

He averted his eyes for the first time since she'd met him. He stared down at his feet.

"You could say that, sure." He said gruffly. He cleared his throat and looked up, glaring fiercely this time. "Finish your call. I haven't got all day."

She sighed.

"Fine," she grumbled. "But you're looking for help in the wrong place. I can't even help myself."

"Once again, I think you'll find you're wrong about that."

* * *

Danny answered after only one ring.

"Clara?"

She almost wept at the sound of his voice.

"Danny, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hey, it's all right. It's fine. Are you okay? Clara, how are they treating you?"

"I missed his funeral."

"I know. _I'm _sorry. I tried to get you out just for that day, but they wouldn't listen. They fired me for asking. Very paranoid about where people's allegiances lie these days."

"I forgot to tell him I loved him that morning."

Danny was quiet. Clara turned so her back was to the Doctor, horrified that he was hearing these things and seeing her this way. She longed for Danny so deeply and completely that she would've done anything to have him there with her.

"Oh, Clara," he whispered. She listened to him take a shaky breath. "He knew. He always knew."

She wasn't so sure of that, and that was part of the reason her heart hurt so terribly. The thought of him dying with the thought that she might've sent him to his death…it ripped her apart from the inside out. It was what kept waking her up at night.

"Are you okay?" She asked Danny. "No one questioned you, right? They believed I knocked you unconscious?"

"Fully and completely. The concussion helped." He admitted lightly.

"Con—?!"

"It's fine. I did it myself to make the story more believable. Although…Clara, I wish we hadn't done that. I wish I'd gone in there with you."

Deep down, it was what she selfishly wanted too. But the words made her react defensively.

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that. You don't deserve to be here."

"And you do?"

"Without a doubt."

"Rubbish."

"No. It's not rubbish. I—I killed eleven people, Danny. I turned over two hundred against their superior officers. I shattered eleven families. All for John, and in the end, he…" she stopped. She bowed her head. It took extraordinary effort to keep speaking. "I deserve all I'm getting. You deserve to be home and safe."

"Maybe home doesn't exist when you're gone."

She shut her eyes, overcome with sorrow. Her nose seared with oncoming tears.

"Danny…"

"No. I don't want—I didn't mean for us to have this conversation again. And I suppose it doesn't even matter now, anyway." His voice was thick.

For the first time, Clara risked a glance back at the Doctor. He was standing a respectful distance away, but she remembered that every minute she was on the phone was costing him. She turned back around.

"I need to go," she said apologetically. "But come visit me. Last night I got a VO number for you. You can go online and book a time to come. Please, will you?"

Clara could hear the unrestrained love in his voice.

"Of course. As soon as possible. Hang on, let me get a pen." She listened to him shuffle something about. "All right. What's the number?"

She trilled the number off quickly, worried the line would die on her. But it waited until the end to do that.

"Love you." He whispered.

She was parting her lips to reply when the connection split. She stared blankly at the machine, horrified. It took her a moment to realize the Doctor had pressed down on the switchhook, ending her call.

"Any longer and I wouldn't have enough to buy anything on canteen this week."

Clara blinked against the burning in her eyes. She spun around to face him, her gaze hot with accusations.

"I would've paid you back. You didn't have to hang up on him."

"It's better to end calls before you say the L word. Before you make promises you can't keep." He practically spat.

Clara's eyes were welling with tears. They were mostly from fury.

"'I love you' is not a promise." She bit, her words slow and dangerous. "It's an admission."

"You're wrong, bonny girl." He sneered. His tone was almost condescending. Clara despised it. "And one day you'll see that."

She was so cross she was shaking. She knew part of her anger was simply from the overwhelming nature of getting to talk to Danny for the first time in months, but she felt comfortable to blame the Doctor anyway. She waited tensely in front of her cell door for him to open it, but he made no moves to. Clara looked up at him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. They slipped and fell to her sides when she saw the look on his face. Expectant.

"What?" She demanded, and then she remembered the first part of their deal. She felt blood surge to her cheeks. "Oh," she mumbled. She shuffled closer to him begrudgingly. She lifted her eyes from the floor and looked into his. "Just my face?"

"Of course." He affirmed.

She inhaled shortly and then exhaled. "I still think it's weird."

"That's okay. It might be. I haven't decided yet."

She moved even closer to express her quiet permission. She stared determinately over his shoulder as he lifted his hands. She eyed a crack on the wall like she could mend it with her eyes. His rough fingertips touched her cheeks for a moment—and then he quickly retracted them, like he'd been burned. Clara averted her eyes back to his, partially curious. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he reached forward once again. His fingertips stroked her cheeks gently with the lightest of touches, and at first all Clara could feel was all the blood racing underneath her skin. And then he traced his index finger down her nose, caressed a thumb over her lips, stroked her hair back from her forehead. She felt an unexpected and wholly inappropriate surge of arousal, one that made her blink rapidly in surprise. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from jumping back from him.

"Oh," he said softly.

Clara looked around them nervously, looking everywhere but his eyes. His fingers continued to trail curiously over her skin. She could feel her heart racing.

"What?" She asked. Her voice was a bit higher than she would've liked.

"I like the feel of you." He admitted. There was wonder in his tone, but frustration, too. Clara swallowed hard.

"The…feel of me?"

She looked down and tried to follow the movements of his fingers, but she ended up going slightly cross-eyed as he moved his finger back to the bridge of her nose. He hummed with warm realization.

"You were right. There's nothing wrong with your nose. Not at all."

She was red-faced and gaping as he opened her door, turned on the spot, and strolled away.

She could feel her skin tingling.

* * *

There was an intimacy in whatever had just transpired that she couldn't express in words, so she decided she wouldn't speak of it.

She slept for perhaps three hours, John's watch pressed to her cheek and _Meditations _tucked in beside her, and then the lights flickered on and everyone woke. She was sluggish and quiet the entire morning, too tired to even obsess over the path of the Doctor's fingertips as she had that night for hours before she finally fell asleep.

"You look horrid. Did you sleep at all last night?"

Clara looked up from her breakfast pack. She'd been given two tea bags by accident, something that had made her grin like a fool despite her exhaustion. She turned a teabag between her index and middle fingers as she contemplated how to respond to Vastra.

"Not really." She admitted. She held up the bag. "May I use your kettle?"

Vastra inclined her head politely. "Of course."

Clara grabbed the hard, plastic mug she'd finally been given and crossed over to the kettle. She carried it to the sink and filled it, her mind circuiting back to the Doctor as she stared at the water. She kept blushing as she did and she could only pray she'd forget it. It was difficult to when it'd been the first time she'd been genuinely _touched _since she'd been arrested. She was sure after a few days it'd lessen in her mind.

"Don't forget to check your private cash balance today." Vastra reminded her.

Jenny had tried to help her make her phone call the previous night, but when they'd asked about her balance, the screw said her money had yet to be posted. He said it should be up by sometime today, which was a huge relief, because Clara needed another bar of soap and some more toothpaste. A few different food goods wouldn't hurt, either. And she was hoping to get her own electric kettle, an extra pair of socks, and (of course) a lot more tea bags. She'd told her dad to just put most her bank account contents in, as she was going to die in here most likely, so if everything had posted she was going to buy some sugar, too. She'd never been so excited for shopping in her life.

"I won't." She crossed back over and set the kettle on the ring. She turned as the water heated. "You know my friend that I told you about? Danny?"

"Mmhmm."

"He's coming to visit me."

She smiled at Vastra. That smile quickly slid from her face as Vastra frowned.

"How exactly is that? You haven't filed a form or phoned him." She reminded her.

Clara froze.

"Oh—I…yes, you're right. I mean he's _going _to come visit me, once I phone him and give him a visiting number." She backtracked.

Vastra looked at her suspiciously for a moment. She turned down to her container of dry cereal.

"Well, don't get your hopes up, Oz. People aren't always so reliable when you ask them to visit." She commented dryly.

But Clara wasn't worried at all.

"This man is."

* * *

She carried a piece of paper and a pen around with her for the rest of the day. She was keeping a list of things she wanted to talk to Danny about, things she wanted to say. She didn't want to forget a thing, since she didn't know how often she'd get to see him. Jenny and Vastra teased her lightly about it at lunch, but it wasn't mean-spirited.

She sat down near the back of the field during their outdoors hour, that piece of paper pressed against her thighs. She spun the pencil between her fingers as she reread the things she'd listed out, mulling over what else to add. She was so absorbed in it that she forgot to look for the Doctor. But it didn't matter; he didn't forget to look for her.

"Hi." He greeted.

His tone was stiff and formal. Clara looked up at him, squinting some from the sun.

"Hello," she replied, somewhat uneasily.

He gestured towards the thin grass beside her.

"I'm going to sit?"

Clara set the pencil down on top of the paper.

"Are you asking or telling me?"

"Asking. Telling. Both." He clamped his lips shut. Clara wondered how long it'd been (before her) that he'd had an actual conversation with a human being. She wondered if she'd ever get the chance to ask him. After a moment of thought, she nodded.

He sank down beside her rather ungracefully, a mess of long limbs and creaking knees. She shifted the paper onto her other side, just out of his line of sight. She looked up at him. He seemed intent on examining the grass. Clara struggled to break the awkward silence.

"Thank you for the phone call." She blurted. She cleared her throat and looked down at her lap. "It was really kind of you."

He made a noncommittal sound. She waited for him to speak.

"I could tell you really needed it." He finally admitted.

Clara turned and looked up at him. She studied his eyes.

"I did." She agreed. She watched him look back down at his hands. "How did you know John?"

He forcibly ripped up blades of grass.

"If I tell you, it might change the way you feel about him."

Clara took a steadying breath before she replied.

"Felt about him." She corrected. Even if it made her chest sting with pain. "He's gone. And nothing can change the love I've already felt."

He shifted and turned to look at her. He seemed disbelieving, but he began to speak anyway.

"He was my military in." He admitted.

Clara pressed for more, even though her heart was sinking. Even though she was already beginning to understand.

"Your military _in_?" She pressed.

"Yes. I got all my intelligent information about the military from him. We were part of the same organization. The Time Lords. We all went by the same code name _the Doctor_. Had our own numbers for each section of the government and society we were involved in. He was eleven, the military."

Clara's gut reaction was to deny it. She shook her head before she could think it through.

"No. I was his commanding officer. He wasn't…rebelling against me."

"In some ways, no, he wasn't. But in the strictest sense? He was. Every single day."

Clara turned. She stared down at that white paper. Her throat was narrowing dangerously. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly before she asked her next question. Her words were laced with dread.

"Was…was there a man named Danny?"

"No."

Her posture visibly relaxed. She exhaled slowly. Her head was throbbing and she couldn't wrap her head around it.

"What did your organization do? What was your purpose?" A thought occurred to her suddenly. She thought about the Air Commodore's words. About how they'd picked John very carefully. "Did the army know about this?"

"It was theorized among us that they must have." The Doctor answered. "And as for our organization…well, that's a conversation for another time. But all you need to know is that we're feared and despised by the government. And that our main objective is to protect the human race. We weren't the bad guys, Clara. Not anymore than you were."

She meant to press for more information—to find out exactly what kind of information John had been supplying—but a sudden, horrid idea slammed into her. She was breathless from the pain of it.

"Oh, God," she whispered. She could feel nausea rising within her. In her mind, she was seeing a quick montage of all the times John had asked her curious questions about her privileged information, all the times she'd thought it was just pillow talk. She bowed forward, so her forehead was almost touching her knees. Her words were pained whispers. "He was using me. He…oh, I think I'm going to be sick—"

She started to scramble to her feet, but the Doctor reached over quickly. He locked his hand around her forearm and gently tugged her back down. She felt dizzy and unfocused as he reached up and grasped her face gently. He redirected her gaze to him.

"No." He said firmly, angrily. "No. Not for a fucking _second_. He loved you."

She stared at him, wide-eyed and horrified.

"But…he asked me for information so much, I never even realized—"

"It didn't even start like that, Clara. He genuinely loved you. I've got the letters to prove it. I'll—I'll give them to you. Okay? You can have them. You can see. I'll have to teach you our code, but once you read them, you'll know. His feelings were real. Christ, he was the only genuine person I ever knew. I can't stand to think of anyone doubting that."

She was terribly confused, and all at once, all she wanted to do was curl up in her bed. She felt even worse when he lowered his hands from her face.

"But why didn't he tell me?" She asked quietly. "I could've protected him somehow. I could've helped. Why didn't he trust me?"

The Doctor was looking at her strangely. She didn't understand and she was tired of being confused, tired of feeling so lost.

"He trusted you more than anyone else on the earth." He told her patiently.

"How do you know that?" She snapped. "Did he write that in a sodding letter? Because he could've lied. Like he lied to me."

She watched the Doctor smile, oddly entertained by her sorrow. She wanted to smack him.

"No. I know it because he chose you to be his successor."

"His…successor?"

The Doctor was patient where she was frenzied. She was sure below her churning confusion there was a bit of anger. He'd never told her any of this. He'd kept so many secrets. And now she found out he'd made her some sort of inheritor to his role in an anarchy group?

"Well, you would've been, anyway. Were you still in the military. He'd never thought you'd end up here. He always thought that—when he was taken out—you'd still be exactly where you were. It was our job to update you on everything, including the suspicious details of his death, and he trusted you to carry on doing what he'd started. But obviously that'll never happen now. They only need one jail informant and that's me."

Clara reached up and cradled her face. She shut her eyes tightly.

"This is too much. What do you expect me to do with this information?" She demanded. She lowered her hands and turned to look up at him. "He's gone and he's left this huge mess and…what do you expect me to do about it?"

He shrugged. He turned back to the pile of yanked grass blades beside him.

"Nothing. I'm not really actively involved in it anymore either. I got caught a few years back—our code didn't prove to be as indistinguishable as we'd hoped. You just asked me how I knew John. So I told you."

She stared down at her lap. She didn't look back up until she felt his hand settle on her shoulder, warm and oddly comforting. She felt his thumb rub back and forth. She turned her head and glanced back up at him.

"I'm not who you think I am."

"Nobody ever is." He agreed.

She studied his eyes.

"I mean—I'm not threatening. I don't have the answers. I'm just…me. Clara. That's all I can be. So if you want to be…friends, or…acquaintances…that's fine by me. But not if you're expecting me to be someone I'm not."

He pulled his hand from her shoulder. He lifted his palms into the air.

"Like I said," he started innocently. "I just want your company."

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment longer. And then she leaned back on her hands and stared up at the sky.

"All right, then."


	5. Touch

She was halfway through dinner when a screw appeared at the door of her cell.

"Inmate RY2227, you're due in the Senior Prison Officer's office."

She looked across the cell to Vastra. The woman shrugged and returned to her meal, but Clara caught the slight lift of her eyebrows. And it frightened her.

She set her tray to the side and rose up from the bed, quickly pushing her socked feet back into her shoes. She followed after the screw (who seemed intent on keeping at least a foot of distance between them at all times, as if Clara were contagious) and ignored the whistles and disgusting comments that flittered her way from the cells in the men's wing. She wanted very much to lift her head and shout equally crude things back at them, but she was worried she was already in trouble somehow. Perhaps they'd found out about the phone call.

The screw gestured towards an opened doorway, turned, and left. Clara hesitated outside of it for a long, pulse-pounding moment, but then she lifted her chin and walked through. There was an ornate wooden desk, a plush armchair, and a rickety folding chair. She didn't have to be told which was for her.

Once she was seated on the flimsy seat, she looked up at the officer. He didn't offer her the same respect. He kept his eyes on the screen in front of him as he spoke.

"Your visiting numbers have been voided. Your phone call privileges have been revoked. You are no longer welcome to join your fellow inmates during lunch in the servery. You will remain in your cell during the outdoors hour and during rec."

Clara shifted as her heart plummeted painfully to her feet. The chair she was sitting on creaked. She could feel a broken piece of it digging into her back.

"But—"

"There will be no discussion and there will be no bargaining."

Clara heard the sound of a screw approaching. The backs of her eyes stung and her throat began aching.

"Why?" She demanded. He ignored her. She took a deep, calming breath. "You have to tell me why. You have to!"

He looked up at her for the first time. His eyes were cold, mechanic grey.

"You are not the one giving the orders here, RY2227. But I hear you've had problems with that before."

The screw had arrived, but Clara was not moving. She squared her shoulders. Inside her contained panic and disappointment, she found strength.

"And I'll have more problems with it unless you tell me what I'm being punished for. I haven't done anything!"

She was sure the threat would only get her in more trouble, but he snapped his eyes to her once more, as if panicked. The emotion faded as quickly as it'd arrived, but Clara learned something. She was not as powerless as she thought.

"You are being punished for associating and conspiring with another high risk inmate." He bit out. He set his hands on top of his desk and looked at her with acute loathing. "I've heard about your little chats with 'the Doctor'. Don't think I don't know what you two are up to."

Clara had truly had no real intentions of causing any sort of rebellion here, but the Senior Officer's actions to her in that office were quickly changing her mind. Her anger simmered and her feeling of insult grew, but she maintained a calm face on the outside. Her mind scrambled about, searching for some sort of excuse, and the minute it snapped onto an idea, she went for it.

"That's not what I was doing with him."

His laughter sounded like barking.

"Oh, I'm sure. Tell me, inmate. Do you think I'm an imbecile? Because I'd have to be to believe that."

"I think you probably try very hard to not be an imbecile. But I'm not so certain whether you succeed." She shot back. She licked her lips and shifted in her seat so she was sitting up straighter. "I'm his companion."

"That much was obvious from the observations of my guards."

She fought back the urge to turn around and shoot a dirty look at the screw. She tucked her tone so it was just nearing suggestion.

"No. I mean we're involved."

He stared.

"Involved in _what_, exactly?" He asked. But Clara noticed the way his eyes had widened slightly. She folded her hands in her lap and decided blunt would be the best way to handle this.

"Hmm…how should I put this…fucking?"

He laughed again, but it was less bark and more questioning.

"What are you trying to admit to?"

_A lesser crime_, she thought. She heaved a sigh.

"We fancy each other. I've always had this thing for older men. When I saw him, I just knew I wanted to be his prison wife. I promise that when we're together, we're not doing much talking, much less planning some sort of…fallible rebellion." She had to work hard to make her eyes soften. "I'm happier here with him than I've ever been. And he feels the same way. Why on _earth _would we want to leave?"

She'd thrown him. He couldn't seem to look anywhere _but _her face now.

"Sexual relations with another inmate are strictly forbidden!"

Clara knew feigning ignorance would get her nowhere.

"I know. But if it's making two high risk inmates content, is it really something that's detrimental to your prison?" She asked. She cleared her throat lightly. "I mean, after all. You must know what happens when I get bored. You've got my entire life story on your computer there."

She nodded towards the monitor. He glanced to it once and then looked back to her, hooked on to her words.

"Egomaniac, narcissistic, borderline sociopathic tendencies…those are all words in my file, right? Those are the words they attached to me forever." She stated. "Would it be wrong to assume they're also in his?"

He stared into her eyes for an awkwardly terrible period of time, but Clara refused to look away. She waited until he broke it. He looked to the screw.

"Andrews, take her back to her cell. Inmate, you're on probation. If I have any reason to believe what you're telling me is a lie, all your privileges will be revoked, and you'll be moved to solitary. And trust me: that isn't a place you want to go."

She kept up with the screw's pace this time. She walked beside him, and he seemed too unnerved by it to lash out at her. She looked down at her hands. She'd left out the biggest word to describe herself. _Manipulative._

* * *

They'd taken her tray away when she returned to her cell. Vastra watched her as she curled up on her side on top of her blanket. She counted her breaths until she felt herself calming down. She could maintain an image of serenity, but on the inside, she was frenzied. She wasn't sure why she'd done what she just did. She knew the majority of it was because she wanted to see Danny. She felt if someone took that away from her, she'd rip along her many creases. But she also knew it was because, from the moment he'd refused to look her in the eye and refused to call her by her name, she'd begun to entertain the idea of mutiny. Just to get him back. Just to put him back in his place. Just to regain her control.

"What happened?" Vastra asked her. She'd been patient for a while, but it was clear she couldn't wait for Clara to come to her. She was openly curious.

"Nothing." Clara lied. She searched the top of her blanket blindly, her eyes still shut. Her fingers curled around the spine of _Meditations_. "Just had to clear something with my bank."

She carefully cracked opened her book. She traced her finger down the pages and she read until something touched her within. And then she kept staring at those words until she'd sucked every possible bit of comfort and advice from them that she could.

_The secret of all victory lies in the organization of the non-obvious._

* * *

When she'd planned out what to do in her head, she'd thought she'd have a bit of time to talk to him first.

She'd rehearsed the quickest way to explain what had happened a million times. She'd gotten it down to eight words. But when she finally saw him during recreation hours, it was too late for any of those words. They locked eyes across the library. And Clara could feel at least two sets of eyes on her from the corners of the room.

She ignored the screws as best she could as she headed straight towards him. He was leaning against a row of books, seemingly unaware of the shift that'd taken place. She could do nothing to heed her heart's frantic beating; she didn't have a choice. If she wanted to see Danny, if she wanted to have her privileges, and _especially _if she wanted to get revenge on the Senior Prison Officer, she had to pull her charade off perfectly. It couldn't be too flimsy. It couldn't be too fake. She had to play it like she believed it. Even if she was terrified out her wits. Even if she wasn't yet entirely convinced that he wouldn't kill her himself.

He parted his lips to say something as she approached, but she didn't give him the chance. Her palms pressed against his shoulders, pushing him back against the row of books. His eyebrows lifted and his eyes widened—and then she carefully turned them so they were just barely out of the screws' sight. She might've been able to get a word in then, but she was panicking internally. She curled her fingers around his bony shoulders and lifted up onto her tiptoes. And then she pressed her mouth to his before she could give into her panic.

Her words were frantic whispers between each caress of her lips against his.

"Go with it," she breathed. She moved her hand up to the base of his neck. She pushed her fingers up into his hair and she parted her lips, tasting him without tasting a thing. In his shock, he was thankfully unresisting. "Trust me."

It wasn't exciting or thrilling at all. In fact, it was terrifying and strange. Until he reciprocated. Either he figured it out startlingly quickly or he'd already known, because he reached down and grasped her hips tightly without another moment's hesitation. He was bold as he brought her body flush against his, turning them so he was pressing her back into the books, his body pushing intimately against hers. She could feel the bite of the cold, metal shelf through the thin material of her shirt, and the book spines were digging into the back of her head, but she was suddenly indifferent to everything but the burning of her lips and the surprising pleasure of his tongue on hers. If his fingertips had left her skin hot and tingling before, she was burning now. When she pulled her lips back to pant, it was not because her panic had rendered her breathless. It was because she suddenly wanted to shove all the books on the middle shelf to the floor, so she could sit on that shelf and wrap her legs around him, so she could feel every effect she might've been having on him (every effect she unexpectedly wished he would have). And she could've done it, too. She was senseless and alarmed by her body's response, even in that stressful moment. But the screws had obviously seen more than enough to satiate their spying duties.

"Back away! Get away from each other!" They barked.

A screw grabbed Clara's arm tightly and yanked her hard to the side, pulling her out from between the Doctor and the shelf. She went off balance and fell, landing hard on her side. Her hipbone slammed painfully into the concrete floor, so hard the pain sent a shock traveling along all her bones. So hard she cried out.

"_Don't touch her_!" The Doctor ordered. It was as much a threat as anything. Clara heard the sound of something crashing to the floor. "Don't you _ever touch her again_!"

And because he was the Doctor, they listened. When Clara pushed herself upright and turned, they were staring down at the two angrily. But they made no move to touch them.

"That's a citation for both of you." The taller screw declared. "You're off canteen for this week. And I'll be reporting this to the Senior Prison Officer."

_Good, _Clara thought. She rubbed her hip. It was already extremely sore to the touch. _You do that. _

"You're both done with recreation today. You'll be escorted back to your cells. Come along."

The Doctor shoved past the waiting screw. Clara stared at his outstretched hand. His back was to the screws, so he could've offered her any facial expression in the world. And he chose concern.

She set her hand in his, surprised for a moment at how soft his palm felt. How comforting it was to hold it. He pulled her to her feet and reached down. His fingertips grazed lightly over her hip. She moved back from his touch with an involuntary hiss of pain.

"They hurt you." He stated. Clara shrugged, suddenly feeling sheepish. He lowered his hand and turned.

"You hurt her." He informed them. "You shouldn't have done that."

It was chilling. The screws' hands went to the phones clipped to their sides uneasily, like they expected the Doctor to charge at them at any moment. But he merely turned back to look at Clara.

"I'll be there at our time." He told her cryptically.

That was the last thing he said. They were both escorted from the library and back to their own cells.

Clara spent the rest of the hour staring at the floor, her cheeks pink and her mind spiraling.

* * *

"What's happened to you?"

The question flew over the roaring of the shower. Clara looked to Jenny and followed her line of sight. She found herself looking down at her own sweeping bruise.

"Screw." She answered shortly.

She turned back to her shampoo bottle. She was trying to carefully ration out what she used, since she wouldn't be able to buy anything for the entire week. She hadn't even gotten the chance to purchase anything yet. She stared at the blue puddle of shampoo in her palm and wondered with a flash of anxiety if she'd done the right thing. Could she have done something less extreme to have persuaded them? Hugged him? Kissed his cheek?

Her regretful thoughts were severed by Vastra.

"They're good at causing those. I once got smacked so hard in the mouth I lost a tooth." She shared. She grinned widely and moved her cheek to the side, showcasing a missing tooth. Clara was still naïve enough to feel a flash of shock.

"A screw hit you? For no reason?" She demanded.

The two women laughed. They shared a look, the one they used whenever Clara was being particularly inexperienced.

"It's not in any official records, but we've had an inmate die because of their brutality." Jenny shared. She stepped closer to Clara out of concern. "Did they hit you? Or shove you into something?"

It occurred to Clara—not for the first time—that Jenny would've been one of her very best friends had they met in school. She smiled back automatically. Even if nothing was truly funny at all.

"I was shoved down." She shared. She turned to look at Vastra. "Has anyone reported it to those outside the prison?"

Vastra's smile was sardonic.

"Oh, Oz," she started. She reached over and set her hand underneath Clara's, catching the dripping shampoo that'd begun to slide off her palm. Clara hadn't noticed. Vastra ran her palm over Clara's, scraping the shampoo back where it belonged. "No one cares about us out there."

Jenny offered her her new bar of soap. She hadn't even used it yet, since she'd been finishing up an old one. Clara was hesitant to take it, even though she didn't have one and wouldn't for the next week at least, but Jenny pushed it into her palm with a firm nod. Clara closed her hands around it and managed a grateful smile.

"That's why we've got to care about each other." Jenny added.

She looked into Jenny's warm eyes, and she almost told her about the Doctor and the situation she'd gotten herself into. But she couldn't translate the words into something they would understand. She couldn't find a way to say _I liked it _without them thinking her mad.

* * *

She was fairly certain their time was the night.

He arrived only a few minutes after Vastra fell asleep. Clara had been expecting him; she hadn't even taken her shoes off. She waited expectantly inside her cell as he opened the door.

"You coming?" He asked.

She approached him slowly.

"Where are we going?"

He closed that strange device and stored it back in his pocket.

"On a walk." He declared.

Clara walked by his side, peeking up at his blank face every few moments. After a longer silence than she would've liked, she decided to take control of the conversation.

"Earlier, when I ambushed you like that…well, I kind of told the Senior Prison Officer that we're involved. A screw had spotted us talking outside earlier and told him. He thinks we're planning a rebellion."

He looked down at her.

"Are we?"

They walked from the wing to a room she'd never been in. She lost her train of thought completely when they walked in.

"…where are we?" She asked. She took another few steps in and turned on the spot, taking in the plush carpets, luxurious sofas, and state-of-the-art built in kitchen. Compared to the drab surroundings she'd been living in, it looked like the height of luxury.

"Screws' lounge. This is where most the prison money goes, if you were curious." He replied. He walked forward and sat on a sofa. She met his eyes in the dim light and stared for only a moment. She joined him, but she kept a respectable distance between their bodies, for fear of scaring him off somehow.

"It's rubbish." She voiced. She looked around once more and then glanced up at him. "The way the screws treat people. The conditions of the prison. It's terrible."

The Doctor's eyes studied her.

"It is." He agreed. "Do you want to do something about it?"

She looked forward as she thought.

"I would've said no just this morning. But…maybe. Maybe I do." She admitted. She thought about the way she'd been able to almost control the Senior Prison Officer. The way he'd been frightened of her. "And I think we might be the only two people in this prison that are equipped to."

Their eyes found each other's. She fell into the shared look and felt her stomach flutter, but she pushed it aside.

"I think you're right, Clara." He admitted. She looked away from his eyes when she spotted his hand rising. He reached up and touched her lips like he had before, softly, curiously. But there was a glowing in his eyes she hadn't seen before. "And I've decided that, as much as I love the feel of you, the taste of you is infinitely better."

Her veins felt hot. She licked her lips once he dropped his fingers from them.

"Oh?" She asked lightly. "So you're not angry with me for getting us stuck in this charade?"

He smirked, but it wasn't mocking. Clara resisted the urge to grin back at him.

"Well, I'm fairly certain we proved enough earlier today, but if we have to do it again, I think I'll survive." He responded.

_We could give it another go, _she almost said. _Practice makes perfect, after all_.

She settled on a small smile instead.


End file.
